


fear is the heart of love

by Skye_Writer



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Writer/pseuds/Skye_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After what happened in the Asylum and before it, Amy feels like she has to apologize before she can move on.<br/>(Written for Cotton Candy Bingo on DW.  Prompt: Insecurities.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fear is the heart of love

They were near the end of the first bottle of wine when Amy said, very quietly, “I’m sorry.” She hadn’t said it yet. Not in the Asylum, not in the TARDIS, not now that they were home again. And now, her head swimming a little from the wine, she felt she _had_ to say it, or else things would never be quite right between them.

Rory blinked at her. “What?”

“Sorry,” Amy said, sitting up a little. They’d been sitting on the couch together, their shoes in a pile by the coffee table. She’d had her legs in Rory’s lap, but she pulled them away now. “I just... I want to say sorry. For stuff.”

“It’s fine, Amy,” Rory said, still looking a bit confused. “It’s—we’re fine now, aren’t we? Are we?”

“Yeah, we are, I just...” She shook her head. “I dunno. I just wanted to say it, to say—I shouldn’t have—I should have told you.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. She almost wanted to bow her head, not look at him, hide away, because she suddenly felt like rubbish for everything she’d done, everything she’d said to him to make him go away, because she didn’t believe him when he said it didn’t matter they couldn’t have kids. But if she looked away she knew she would never say it properly.

“Should have told me what?” He turned towards her. “About—about what? That you couldn’t have kids, I already knew—”

“Not that, I just—” She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, she’d already cried enough the last few months, enough just today. But the tears were coming anyway. “I didn’t believe you.” She sobbed, and Rory was already there, grabbing her hand as she kept talking, because she had to say this all _now_. “When we—at Easter, when you said it didn’t matter that I couldn’t—that we couldn’t have a baby and—”

“Amy, it’s fine, it’s okay, Amy...” He had both hands around one of hers now, and she could feel the warm, soft material of his trousers on her toes, he was so close. And his eyes looked into hers, and even though she was crying he was all she could see.

“It’s not,” she said, shaking her head. “I should have told you, I should have—I just—everyone leaves. Everyone. I remember not having a Mum and Dad, and everyone just left and I always—I always thought you’d leave me because—because everyone does.” Tears streamed down her face, and Rory stared at her, looking wounded.

“Amy...”

“I’m sorry,” she said, again, wiping her face with her free hand. “I just—I’m sorry, Rory—”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles, never looking away from her. “It’s fine, okay? It’s fine.”

“I just had to—I had to tell you.” She bit her lips. “I had to. So you knew, because... I don’t know. I wanted to tell you. I just—I wanted you to be happy, and I didn’t—I didn’t think you could, with me.”

“I am happy,” he said. He kissed her hand again. “With you.”

Amy managed a smile. “Me too.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, and he laughed. “Couldn’t be happier.” She stretched her legs out across his lap again.

He smiled at her. “I’m never gonna leave you, Amy, I promise,” he said.

“You promise?” She leaned into him, lacing her fingers between his and smiling again when he reached up and brushed a bit of her hair behind her ear.

“Promise,” he said. And he leaned in and kissed her and Amy forgot she had ever been crying. God, she’d missed him, missed his hands and how they held her, missed his lips, his skin, his nose, his stupid, stupid face. And he was back, he was back, and he loved her and she loved him and nothing had really changed at all. They were together. They had each other.

When they drew apart, Amy rested her head on his shoulder. “I promise, too,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he whispered back. “I don’t blame you.”

And he wouldn’t. She knew all too well how many months he’d worried about them, worried about her and whether she’d leave him, because how many of their friends had been surprised that they were even together? But he’d stayed, and she’d stayed, and they’d prove them all wrong in the end, because they were together, and they would always be together, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
